


Paraspar

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Jodhaa Akbar canon fics [5]
Category: Jodhaa-Akbar (2008)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Missing Scene, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 04:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: [Jodhaa Akbar]Her Krishna is guiding her to him, just as Allah guides him to her.Oneshot.





	Paraspar

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Jalal’s visit to Amer. Title means “mutually, reciprocally” in Hindi.

He scans the crowd for Jodhaa, his bride somewhere among a sea of red, orange, and yellow. He is almost certain he has found her-- her preferred yellow, that golden embroidery bordering the veil, the jewelry-- and is standing inches away from her when his resolve falters. Jodhaa does not hold her head veil _down_ , clutching and fidgeting with it; she always holds it to the side, at such an angle that he has spent an inordinate amount of time memorizing, that speaks of her boldness and her dignity.

The woman before him is not Jodhaa.

He drifts further into the crowd, towards the back, where he senses she is more likely to be hiding. And then he sees her: that same angle, that same uprightness. He knows before he lifts the veil that it _is_ her, that his instincts are correct. How is it that he remembers such a detail after so long apart?

He is right when he thinks in his more whimsical moments that God is leading him to her.

And he desperately wants to believe that her God is leading her to him as well.

Amer’s warm welcome, her parents’ open approval of him, all lead him to believe that perhaps she is not quite so resistant to him, despite the iron flashing in her eyes as she whispers furiously at him. If she truly despised him, had closed off her heart to him forever, she would have ensured he could never set foot in Amer again.

* * *

His conversation with his lady wife later than night makes it perfectly clear that she will remain in Amer as long as she wants.

It stings for him, Emperor of all of Hindustan, to be scolded and rebuffed like a wayward child, that he wants to lash out at her. But he must admit, if the roles were reversed, he would not be quite so forgiving. And just as he did not press her on their wedding night, he will not press her now.

But he must still broach the question. “Do you intend to remain in Amer forever?”

He hates to pressure her, when she is the wronged one, but it still stands. When he had exiled her, he had intended it to be forever, and he would not be surprised that she is so insulted, she intends to live out the rest of her days here. If she does remain here forever, what becomes of the alliance? The question of an heir?

He hates to pressure her, but the decision is not his. She is Empress of Hindustan; she owes her realm, if not him, that much.

Jodhaa presses her lips together and does not answer, whether because she really means to stay here forever, or because she has not thought that far ahead.

Jalal sighs. “You may still dissolve the marriage if you wish.”

Her gaze jerks up to meet his.

“That option still stands. I will not have you trapped in this union if you do not wish to be.”

He speaks the truth, even as something cold and dull clenches his heart at the thought of her leaving him, of things ending between them without a chance to make it right. He respects ( _loves_ ) her enough to let her go if she wishes to.

Jodhaa seems to give the idea serious contemplation. Her eyes rake over him, something like -- hunger? desire? -- in her gaze.

“No,” she says, quietly, firmly.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“No,” she says again, more strength in her voice. She turns and strides about the chamber, making movements of straightening the curtain, though it is already in place. “We are married, and nothing will ever break that bond, not even either of our deaths. And I would not have my people lose the security of the alliance. And I know that _I_ respect the sacred bond of marriage too much to forsake my duties, even if there are others who do not.”

It stings, that parting comment, but he supposes it is deserved. She douses the candles and settles on her side of the bed, pointedly keeping as much distance between them as possible.

He watches her through the gauzy material, somewhat soothed. Despite her words of duty and their people, he is sure it is more than that that keeps her in this marriage. He knows her well enough to be certain that she is too prideful to stay in an unhappy marriage. If she is letting their union stand, it means she is giving him a chance. It means that she has hope that he can actually meet her challenge. She cares enough to dwell in this strange half-marriage, when she could be free.

She is guided by her lord in all that she does-- a devotion that called him to her when he first witnessed it, that he still finds so seductively alluring, even as it is so unlike the devotion he has always known and maintained in his own life. And he feels a strange triumph that her Krishna is guiding her to him, just as Allah guides him to her.

He lifts up the curtain and gazes upon her face, gleaming and golden in the candlelight. He drinks in the sight of her, tracing her profile with his eyes, until he allows the curtain to fall between them.


End file.
